Princess Most Likely
by one.twilight.sun
Summary: AU. Emma Swan makes her own way in the world, having been abandoned at a young age. If she happens to get mixed up with Robin Hood and his merry band of men, a female Warrior, a fashion-conscious Dark One, a princess contest, and a certain pirate rogue - well, she's only got herself to blame, hasn't she?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Hi! So new story here that I'm actually crazy excited to write. I'm going to try to update once a week, but might be a little less, a little more. I'm kind of rolling right now so that's all good. I'm not sure how long this story will end up being because I started out with one thing in mind and have already made it more than that so we'll see.**

**The story is loosely based on the storyline of _Miss Congeniality_ starring Sandra Bullock. Neither that movie nor the characters and world of _Once Upon a Time _are mine (frownie face).**

**Thank you to j-j-sawyer-phillips tumblr for helping me out with the story title!**

**Now please enjoy!**

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Emma had known from a very early age that she was different. And not a good different.

One could say it was because she'd never really had a family. She doesn't know the story of her birth. She doesn't know if the people who'd given her up were rich, poor, cruel, or just too young to have a baby to care for. Her early memories are of being cared for by an elderly woman under the wooden trellises of an abandoned bridge. Mother Bentley made it a point to tell Emma that she'd been found in a hollow tree at the edge of the Blue Grass Clearing. Emma liked to think that perhaps there was a significance to this, that this information would be helpful to finding her family. But this was a wavering hope.

When Mother Bentley had died, Emma had made her way to the village closest to the bridge. It was a place they would visit for supplies and whatever work Mother Bentley could scrounge up. There Emma had learned quickly that a small girl who had no real name and no home had no protection. She'd been turned away from homes of families who couldn't take on the extra mouth to feed and threatened by shopkeepers to not dig through their trash.

Her only hope had been entering into an uneasy alliance with the rat-catcher, a man whose unenvied job was both a necessity and a point of ridicule. Carsten at least had ended up an honorable man. While not very affectionate or paternal, with his rough face and gruff demeanor, he allowed Emma a dry place to sleep and food – if she'd earned it.

The difference between her and other children became highlighted to her one specific day. She wasn't one for making friends, the life she lived and the only person she could claim any sort of familial relationship not exactly something other children were eager to know more about. She'd been tolerated at the annual fairs when she'd wandered into the play groups and the festivities, while not participating whole-heartedly in the proceedings, at least hanging around them.

The only constant in her life had been that of the written word, in a book that Carsten had handed her one day, a ragged book full of stories of heroes who defended their lands from the evils of the world; of damsels in need of rescuing and marrying; of broken families who were healed by the power of true love. She'd scoffed at Carsten when he'd first given it to her. But once she'd started reading it, she'd been unable to put it down and kept it hidden under her pallet. Carsten was wise enough not to comment. She only found the time to read the book through on those festival days where the streets would be full of stalls and cheer and children playing. She'd sit on an empty stoop and dive into a world where justice prevailed and the world ended in happily ever afters.

However, on this particular day, she's distracted from her reading by the jeers of a group of boys only several feet away from where she sat. She initially thinks that her attention is grabbed because of the edge of viciousness to the boys' voices but after, she realizes it's because she needed to be taken out of a fantasy world and placed in the very real one she inhabited.

Turning, she sees the bigger boys of the village crowded around another boy, small shoulders hunched up around his ears, head bowed as if this would shield him from the cruel and taunting words they were throwing at him.

"_Pest!"_

"_Orphan!"_

"_No one wanted you!" _

They're words she's familiar with herself and she can feel her ears turning red as the blood rushes to her head. While she hasn't really lived the easy life and has endured her share of heckling, the stories of right and wrong, good prevailing over evil, seem to have imbued her with a set sense of right and wrong.

Before she's aware of it, she's pushed her skinny body between the boys and taken a defiant stance in front of the smaller boy. Her fists are clenched at her sides, her face upturned into the boy that's closest. "You leave him alone!"

He's momentarily shocked that someone, let alone a _girl_, has decided to stand up to him. Then his face relaxes into a sneer and he steps closer to her, knowingly using his height to intimidate her.

"What if I don't want to? What's a girl like you going to do about it?" He chuckles to his friends who join in, sheep-like.

The sharp elbow to the stomach catches him in surprise and he gasps in pain, hunching over. She takes the opportunity to push him over by his shoulders and he lands on his backside hard, the hands of his surrounding friends uselessly stretched to catch him.

There's silence for just a moment as the bigger boy stares up at her, stunned. He gets himself together soon enough and starts toward her, causing her to take a step back in spite of herself, before he stops and a smirk appears on his face.

"You know what," he says as he leans around her to speak to the younger boy she's been defending, "I'll leave you to your little wife-y, who doesn't even seem to be a _girl_." He spits out. "Come on, boys. There's better things to do in this village." He dismisses the younger children with a shrug of his shoulder, turning away. The others follow suit.

Despite the parting remarks, Emma feels like she'd gained a victory. And perhaps a new friend. She turns to smile at the younger child. The smile fades as she's confronted with the boy's frown, his brown eyes holding a significant look of disfavor.

"You're welcome?" She doesn't mean for it to come out as a question, but she can't really think of a reason for him to be looking at her that way.

He ignores the hand she's holding out to shake and starts stalking off in the opposite direction. "I didn't ask for your help. Go find some other 'damsel in distress,'" he yells at her over his shoulder.

Emma's hand stays up for a moment longer before slowly letting it fall to her side.

All she'd wanted to do was help.

She's confused because the way it usually ends is that the rescuee and the rescuer ride off into the sunset or become friends or something. At least that that's how it was in the stories of her book. She looks back at the abandoned item on the stoop, a dark square in the dirt. The starkness hits something inside of her. She realizes that life isn't like the tales she's filled her head with, that it's a lot rougher and gray than the black and white of good versus evil.

Maybe what her life is now is how it's always going to be: a struggle to survive, being looked down on, no one but the ones who already live on the edge of normal existence to be her friend or someone to turn to. She goes over to where the book lays and picks it up, feeling the battered leather under her small fingers. Her fingers clench tightly around the book before she deliberately turns and walks to the nearest pile of waste and drops it.

Maybe she's not meant to live the fairy tale and have a happy ending, but she sure doesn't have to stay in the life she lives now.


	2. Chapter 2

After that fateful day, she'd said good-bye to Carsten the rat-catcher who'd merely grunted at her and handed her a cap and a satchel with food. It wasn't until she was well on her way to King's City did she find the few gold coins sewn into the lining. She'd had to hold in the tears at the unexpected kindness from the gruff man.

Perhaps one could argue about Carsten letting a girl of only twelve years make her own way to the city, but one couldn't accuse Carsten of being a parental type. His reasoning, if one bothered to ask, would be that the girl was handy with a blade and had been old enough to earn her keep over the past few years. And besides, the girl with that cap upon her yellow hair looked more boy than lass and so would be less likely to attract anyone's attention.

So Emma made her way along the King's Road, the well-traveled highway a particularly watched route by the patrol and so not so frequented by bandits. She'd been told that it was four days to reach the city from the village, less if by horse. At night she'd find a handy tree to climb and sleep amongst the branches and by day she'd nibble at the food Carsten had given her, not wanting to eat it all in case she wasn't able to find anything hunting. Which was unlikely given that it was late spring, but she had learned early on to think ahead or starve.

She'd just fallen asleep on the third night she'd been on the road, thinking of what she could start out with in the city when she hears a sudden commotion from across the way. Sitting up, she peers out between branches, her breathing slowing automatically, an instinct so that it would be harder to hear her. A dark figure breaks out from the tree line, two other figures on his heels. The first man pauses as he hit the road, looking left and right, noting the lack of cover on either side. That hesitation costs him as the others catch up to him, managing to knock him on his back as he turns.

The fallen man recovers, knocking the first attacker away from him with a hard kick. The second attacker is on him as he gets his feet under him and the two exchange blows that she can hear cracking from where she sits. Emma's frozen for a moment, it's not her fight at all, and does she really know which one is the victim here? But even with her doubts, she sees the first attacker getting up, ready to double up on the man and the knife that's tucked into her boot is suddenly in her hand and thrown across the air to land in the shoulder of the first attacker.

The attacker staggers back, one arm grabbing at the knife and throwing it to the side. He's gasping in pain and yells at his cohort: "He's got friends! Let's get out of here!" before turning and disappearing back into the trees. His accomplice disengages from the first man, barely ducking a left hook to his chin and follows after.

The man stares after them for a long second before glancing at where the knife is that had seemed to come out of thin air. Emma holds her breath as he bends down to pick it up. He turns it over in his hand, the movement practiced, as his eyes survey the side of the road she's on. _A fighting man_. She remembers how he'd fended off two attackers just minutes ago.

"You can come out now," he calls, stopping to stare right at her. Well, probably not _right _at her, but at the tree that she's hidden in. She doesn't move, can't move. "I'll not hurt you. You just helped me survive a nasty attack, so I'd say I could count on you as a friend."

His tone seems sincere enough. In the darkness, it's hard to make out exactly what he looks like but his stance is unthreatening, relaxed. Except for the fact that her knife is in his hand.

"Drop the knife away from you."

He does, setting it out and taking several steps back from it, practically on the other side of the highway again. Not taking her eyes away from him, she makes her way down the tree quickly, feet and hands finding the necessary branches with ease. She notices when he catches sight of her, his shoulders loosening.

"You're just a boy!" he exclaims as her feet hit the ground and she slowly shuffles closer, her eyes still wary. She's not surprised by his assumption. The few travelers she's come across thought the same thing, offering a place in their cart or riding group to a young lad on his own. She'd not taken the offers, mainly because she'd sensed something was off with the one or two who'd asked and also because she'd rather make her own way, always had to before so why would she be different now?

But she can't help but snap back at the utter incredulity in his tone. "Yeah, so? I'm good with a knife and not afraid to use it, as you just saw."

The man is quick to laugh at that, throwing back his head, letting the boom of his voice carry down the road. She grabs her blade, wiping it on the spot of grass close by before tucking it back in her boot. The man calms down and takes a step toward her, hand out. Emma's already taken a step back before she's aware that the hand is out for a shake and not an attack. The man's stopped moving, the hand that he'd extended now open in a calming motion, his gaze assessing.

"'Twas just a handshake, lad."

She studies him for a moment, now that he's moved closer and is still. His eyes are kind, slight crinkles at each corner matching the mouth that seems quick to smile. That sixth sense she'd always relied on seems quiet right now, nothing about him that points to insincerity and deceit. Still a bit wary, she places her hand in his for a quick shake.

That quick side grin comes out again as their hands drop. "You're a good lad. Liked you from the moment you put your knife in ol' John's minion."

Her eyes drop as she recalls drawing blood from another person, even if he'd seemed more of an awful man than the norm. The change in her face is evident to man. His hand comes in view of her eyes, though stopping just short of touching her shoulder.

"It's done. And you didn't kill him, just hurt him enough to stop him from ending my own life. "

She nods her head at that and meets his brown eyes again. His eyes are understanding.

"I'm called Robin. What should I call you?"

It's funny that he's not even asking for her name, just something to be called by. She thinks for a moment and answers, "Edward." It's a name she can get herself to answer to.

"Edward." He repeats, a pleased smile on his face. "Well, Edward. It seems I disturbed your rest by having the unfortunate inclination to be chased around by incompetent soldiers. I have a camp not far from here with a fire against this chill and some meat for your belly. I wouldn't mind putting you up for the night as thanks."

Trusting her instincts she nods, accepting his offer and follows him through the tree line. Night has settled fully in the forest, the sounds of the various animals and birds having dampened as they'd found their own niches to sleep. Emma pays attention to the way Robin walks, as if he's a part of the forest itself, his footsteps hushed. He'd mentioned a camp, and she thinks that it's more of a permanent home for him than a temporary one.

It's not long before Robin stops and gives a signal, like the call of a bird. There's an answering whistle and Robin motions her forward. They break through the surrounding forest into a clearing that's occupied by a small fire and a few men who are crowded around it. Emma's sure that there's more, but probably keeping to some sort of perimeter.

As Robin approaches, a very large man separates from the others, a smile on his face, though his eyes are curious, focused on Emma. She almost falters, but Robin's already laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder and started talking. "Little John, this is Edward. He's helped me out of a tough scrap and I wanted to thank him in food and a place to sleep."

Little John's (an unlikely name) smile finally reaches his eyes. "Ah, Robin. You'd be the only one of us needing to be rescued by this boy, eh? You and your penchant for getting caught up with the pretender."

Before Emma can process that statement, Little John's got her by the elbow and steering her towards the fire. The other men look up and nod or grunt greetings, going back to whatever's in the bowls in front of them. She finds a similar bowl pushed into her hands and inhales the savory scent and starts digging in before even Little John and Robin have settled back down. Her eyes are feeling heavy as she finishes the bowl, the low murmur of voices around her having a lulling effect. She catches Robin's chuckle as he sees she's almost out and she's guided from the fireplace to a pile of blankets where she soon drops into sleep.

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She's blinking slowly awake, the morning sun filtering down across her face, warming her, before she's fully aware that there's another presence beside her. When she does become aware of it, she sits up quickly, reaching for the knife in her boot, her hair coming loose from her cap. With a gasp, she tries to hide it, but it's already too late.

"Ah, I thought so," Robin says from where he sits beside her.

She turns to meet his brown eyes. The kindness is still present, that smile on his face. The tension that had entered her at the thought of being exposed lessens a bit, but it's back in his next sentence, the steel a bit more uncovered in his voice.

"Now, lass. Would you like to tell me your real name and the story of why a girl's traveling all by herself on the King's Road?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thank you to all those who have reviewed and favorited and followed! It means so much to me that you're liking this story! I know I started out saying it was loosely based on _Miss Congeniality_ and as I continue writing this, I used the term "loosely" well...loosely. I need help on my summary so if you're willing to get some spoilers PM me!**

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Her immediate reaction had been to bolt, but Robin shifted his stance slightly, but meaningfully—he'd be ready to go after her. So she'd stayed where she was and thought fast.

"Before you tell me a wild tale, I warn you that I am uncanny in discerning whether one speaks sooth."

Despite the tense situation, her mouth quirks up. It's a skill they seem to share.

The hardness in his face lessens at her smile and his tone gentles. "I still count you as a friend, but as you travel alone and with secrecy, I have need to ensure the safety of my camp and my men."

She nods in understanding, eyes still not quite meeting his. Perhaps it's because she has just had to rely on herself for so long or a natural reticence to share, but there's still a hesitation in revealing too much to this man, even if he's been nothing more than helpful. Weighing in his favor, however, is that instinct that they seem to have in common, the one that says that he's saying the truth and that she can trust him.

Her green eyes meet his and he sees that wariness fade a bit. The lass is young to have such a hardness around her. Her face is elfin, the dark eyebrows a contrast to the gold hair that had fallen out of her cap just moments ago. Despite the delicateness that her petite frame exudes, Robin knows better than to underestimate her. She is more than what she seems.

The girl's eyes drop, a small bit of color pinking her cheeks as she seems to come to a decision. He braces himself for shades of gray, statements which aren't lies but aren't truths either.

"I was on my way to the city. I travel alone because I have no one to go with me. I've got no family, no real home, it's been me for as long as I can remember. I don't even really know what I will do when I reach the city."

The admission is startling. Not in the facts, nay, Robin had suspected that the girl was an orphan. It's surprising because she'd said the truth, that she'd laid herself open just a little to someone virtually a stranger.

His heart softens for the young one and he lays a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her gaze raises to his and he smiles, wanting her to know that her trust isn't misplaced. The tension in her body seems to fade away and there's a tentative tilt to her lips.

"Thank you," he says simply. Honesty and courage should always be acknowledged and it's something he's tried to instill in his own men. "What is your name?"

"Emma Swan," she replies, not trying to dissemble.

"A good name! I welcome you to travel with my men and I. We are an honorable lot. I've seen your hand at knives and we can train you to other useful weaponry as well as the skills of living within the forest. What say you?"

He drops his hand away, not wanting to have her pressured in anyway, understanding that if she's been alone for as long as she has, then she's learned to trust her own judgment. The girl had survived and seemed to have done well, he wouldn't disrespect her own ability to decide her life.

This time the smile that lights her face is a little more plain as she agrees, "All right, I will go with you."

Robin stands, offering a hand to Emma. "Then we start."

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Robin Hood was a man of his word. Emma learned this firsthand. The day she'd accepted his offer, he'd introduced her to the rest of the Merry Men as their newest addition. There'd been nary a blink as she learned the names of those who made up the motley band. There was Little John, the large man with the incongruous name; Alan Dale, a fair-haired man with a sad air about him; Will Scarlett, a young man only a few years older than her and Robin's nephew; Mulan, a dark-haired woman from the Far East ("She'd also tried to pass herself off as a man. You see why I didn't fall for your disguise?"); and Friar Tuck, to keep watch over their souls (he'd been introduced with a mischievous wink). Once introductions had been over, she'd been put to work, packing up their camp.

She earns her place. In the beginning, she starts out as the "lass of all trades" as the Friar affectionately calls her. She helps set up and break down camp. She takes a turn on the cooking. She grumbles only slightly when Robin sits her down and teaches her how to sew – "You've already torn two holes in those trousers of yours, the least you could do is learn how to sew it up" – and keeps her amusement to herself at seeing the man's big hands handling a fine needle.

Having not grown up in a large family, she's a little overwhelmed at first at the amount of people who are willing to help her or teach her or just spend time with her. She's slow to trust, but finds her rhythm without too much time passing.

Robin takes her under his wing, keeping her in line. Little John is like a jolly uncle, imparting useful knowledge on what to eat and not eat in the Sherwood Forest, the useful plants for healing, and the parts of the forest to avoid. At night, she likes to sit near the fire and listen to Alan play his lute, the mournful melody implying stories of his past that he never speaks of. During the day, in between following Robin around learning how to silently walk through the forest and perfecting her knife-throwing with Mulan, Friar Tuck gets her to sit with him and learn more letters. Surprisingly, Emma finds that she has a liking to this, having only ever read out of one book, and makes it a point to find time each day at the learned man's side .

She doesn't know what to make of Will. He's the closest one in age to her and so someone she finds herself spending a lot of time with. She doesn't know if Robin throws them together because it's convenient or because Will genuinely likes her. She thinks (hopes) it's the latter. Will's got dark curly hair, kept closely cropped and dark eyes that Emma sometimes finds herself lost in.

He makes her laugh, helps her a little in filling in that part of her that had been so starved of affection. His hand will run through her hair, calling it "sunshine" and making her blush.

Neither of them notice Robin watching them with narrowed eyes, concern evident in his face.


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